


would it be cheesy?

by mysafeplaceishere



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010), Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Quentin Smith, F/M, Forehead Touching, Grinding, Marking, Neck Kissing, Over the Clothes, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysafeplaceishere/pseuds/mysafeplaceishere
Summary: You do an excellent job at keeping him rested and feeling good.
Relationships: Quentin Smith/Reader, Quentin Smith/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 60





	would it be cheesy?

**Author's Note:**

> *slaps knees* am I in love with this boy or am I in love with this boy?
> 
> the answer? absolutely. 
> 
> enjoy this beautiful creation getting himself some seccy time. I will be writing more for him in the future should any of this tickle your fancy. ;)

“You’ve been staring for awhile.”

Your eyes flicker over to Claudette who is standing over you, anxiously twiddling her thumbs. You scoot over on the log you sit at to offer her a place beside you with a close-lipped smile. Once she knows her presence isn’t bothering you, she takes the offered spot but makes sure her shoulder isn’t touching yours. You watch her out of your peripheral vision a few moments before leaning over to brush shoulders. It makes her completely relax.

Your eyes glance back over to the object of your staring for the past few minutes and Claudette watches your friendly smile morph back into your previous frown.

“I’m aware I’ve been staring,” you answer with a downward tilt of your brows, “is it distracting you? I apologize if it is.”

She worries her bottom lip under her teeth a few moments as she observes the way your eyes shine with longing, buried under the orange campfire light. Her eyes redirect to your hands which grasp your knees and your fingers that dig into the soft mesh of your skin. For a second she debates in reaching over to take one of your hands into her own.

Your eyes stay trained on Quentin’s slouched form. The position in which he sits makes your gut twist—yet knowing the reason he sits pitched forward is because it keeps him from falling asleep. You almost stand up in a rush from where you’re sitting when his head slips from his palm. Just barely is he able to catch himself and pull his body weight back up to avoid getting a face full of dirt.

The endless cycle of him drifting off and waking himself back up continues. It has been since the last trial which, if had to put a time frame on it, would have been a solid hour ago. You didn’t think it was your place to invite yourself into his personal space so you stay where you are, never once taking your eyes off him in case he finally does pass out from exhaustion. He has only ever done that one other time but even then it terrified you—even worse that it was in the middle of a trial and you had to drag him out of the exit gate without help. You were close to bleeding out but you clambered over to him despite the blur in your vision, grasped one of his calloused hands and escorted him to safety.

It was by the hair of your head did you manage to get out. You didn’t leave Quentin’s side after being settled back at the campfire that night. Anytime someone tried to trade shifts with you—in which they would wake him up if he was having a nightmare—you wouldn’t budge. Your sleep would come easily after you were sure he was well rested for once.

Watching himself suffer by his lonesome kills you inside. You love him dearly and it hurts to see him being tortured by his fear of sleeping. With him being an introvert, you know needs alone time to process and recharge in his own interesting way. The only reason you haven’t rushed over, took his face into your hands and convinced him to sleep is because you want to respect his boundaries.

Claudette’s hand curls over your own and it snaps you out of your daze. When your almost distraught gaze meets her kind one, it makes the knot in your stomach untangle itself. Her smile alone makes your face feel warm.

“You should try to get him to sleep. He’s torturing himself,” she nods over to where he’s sitting.

You glance back and forth between her face and Quentin with pursed lips and an uncomfortable crinkle of your eyes. No one else will try to encourage him to rest besides you. It isn’t that you have a problem telling him to rest but the fact that at some point you’re gonna have to tackle him down to the ground to make any progress.

“Alright. I’ll try my best,” you give a shrug, knowing good and well this isn’t going to go in your favor.

You drag yourself to your feet, stretch your hands above your head to earn a few pops of your back, and then saunter over like you hadn’t been staring at him prior. Without asking, you nudge him with your elbow when sitting back down beside him. His head snaps up and he blinks his bleary eyes a few times before noticing it’s only you. You reach up to mess with the few brown curls of hair that sticks out from under his beanie and frame his face. His expression goes from panicked to relieved when your fingertips brush his cheek.

“How are you feeling?” You ask with a knowing head tilt.

“Fine,” he answers with a forced smile.

You narrow your eyes and use the hand you were using to play with his hair to pinch his cheek like a mother scolding her child. Using the grip on his cheek, you tip his head towards a better angle to watch as the light of the campfire cast a glow on the dark circles under his eyes. Now that his face isn’t swallowed by shadow, you can see how miserable he looks.

He doesn’t fight against your grip or try to explain himself like he usually does. All he gives you is a sigh through the nose that only manages to break your heart. You release his cheek and let your hand fall back into your lap, already feeling defeated.

“You don’t have to lie, Hun. I know you’re exhausted.”

The soft drop in your tone and sweet pet name makes him blink a few times to comprehend what you had said. A red tint takes up the usually smooth, pale looking skin of his face. You grip the edge of his jacket to play with it and buy yourself more time to come up with a plan. He has to sleep whether he wants to or not.

If you have to drop kick him into your tent and trap him in there, so be it. You won’t move until he passes out.

“I’ll be okay. I always am,” his hand comes up to ruffle your hair and try to ease your worries.

You wait for him to get done before smacking his hand away and fixing your hair back to the way you like it. He watches with a smile curled at his lips. “Is there any way I can convince you to take a nap?”

Panic flashes over the peaceful expression he’s wearing and you quickly try to smooth out his anxiety. You know he has a good reason to be afraid—sleep would terrify you if everytime you tried sleeping, you were toyed with and hurt instead. You haven’t experienced Freddy’s dream hauntings yourself but from the stories you have heard, they aren’t anything pleasant.

“I’ll stay with you. You can sleep in my tent. Please,” you plead, “I don’t like seeing you suffer.”

Seeing the concern on your face makes his shoulders slump. He takes a moment to rub away the sleepiness around his eyes before nodding in your direction to agree to your terms. You brighten up at that and let your arms loop behind his neck so you can press a kiss to his cheek. It’s a chaste kiss but it’s enough to catch not only him off guard but everyone else at the campfire as well. You swear you can hear Claudette whoop at the act.

“Come on, Sleepy Boy. I’ll keep watch over you.”

The attention on him makes the blush spread to his ears and he yanks his beanie over them to hide his embarrassment. You glare at the few still staring with wide eyes and they quickly pretend they hadn’t seen anything to not provoke your wrath. Claudette manages to slip you a thumbs up as you pull Quentin over to your tent by the sleeve of his jacket. He follows behind you without a single complaint.

You unzip your tent flap and offer for him to go first—mostly to make sure he doesn’t get cold feet and try to make a break for it. A gentle “thank you,” leaves his lips in a whisper before he bends down and crawls inside. You wait for him to get all the way inside before following after. After zipping your flap back up, you turn to find him eyeing the space with a bit of curiosity. You scoot over and pat the most comfortable spot to lay as encouragement.

“You... you’ll wake me up if something happens, right?” He asks with a slight tremble to his bottom lip.

You give a firm nod. “Are you doubting my expertise in waking you up? I’ll have you know I wake up Felix for fun and he’s a heavy sleeper.”

The both of you stare at each other for a split second before letting soft laughter take over. His hand subconsciously reaches over to grasp yours and the other pushes back some of his curls that get in his eyes. The gesture makes your chest tighten and butterflies fill your stomach.

“I have something for you, actually,” you remember when catch the shape of your bag out of the corner of your eye.

You miss the way he flinches when you rip your hand away from his in order to dig through your possessions. It takes a minute of digging but you find a small bottle of caffeine pills and hold them up with a triumphant grin. Quentin doesn’t know what to do when you slap the bottle down in front of him.

“I got some caffeine pills for you on nights when I’m not around to watch you sleep. That sounds creepy when I put it like that... just take them already,” you wave them away.

He rolls the bottle around, shakes it a few times, then let’s a broad smile take over his face for the first time in ages. “Where did you get these? Survivors don’t get stuff like this, do we?”

You try to hide the smirk that takes over your mouth by stuffing it into your shoulder. “I stole them off of Frank. The guy hordes them like crazy. I’m sure he won’t miss them.”

He shakes his head at your boldness and stuffs the bottle into his jacket pocket for later use. What he wants to do is pop a few pills to keep himself awake but with you already looking so comfortable and trying to accommodate his needs, he decides that it couldn’t be too bad trying to get a power nap. He knows he can trust you to wake him if something goes wrong. He feels awful that you have to watch over him in the first place—you should be sleeping for the upcoming trials, not babysitting him.

“Will you be sleeping too?” He asks.

Your mouth parts but no answer comes out. Your brain struggles to catch up with the question as he begins to make himself comfortable by laying down and shyly patting the spot next to him. A bit of confusion must cross your features and he’s quick to explain his reason why.

“You shouldn’t have to lose sleep because of me. So we both will,” he averts his eyes with a nervous giggle, “if—if you want.”

You decide that trying to talk while stunned wouldn’t be wise and crawl over to lay down instead. The opportunity to physically be closer to him presents itself and you take it. You lift his arm and slip yourself under it to curl into the warmth of his chest. He smells like ash from the fire and it comforts every anxiety you have in the moment.

His chin rests on the top of your head and his arm curls under your ribs to make sure you don’t go anywhere. Not that you would anyway. Being in his arms feels like home in an unexplainable way—both mentally and physically. Everything about him comforts you.

“It’s a good thing I’m a light sleeper then,” you mumble into his shirt, “now sleep.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies with a snirk in his tone.

Eventually the two of you, after quieting and letting your eyes slip closed, doze off not too long after. Quentin’s steady breathing and warm body pressed to yours is enough to lull you off, although somewhere in the back of your mind you’re ready to pop up if he needs you. One unusual noise or movement and you will be wide awake to handle the situation.

What ends up happening isn’t what you expected. Due to Quentin’s night terrors, he usually finds himself jerked awake before it can get too bad. Past traumas from Freddy, losing Nancy, and physically dying amongst other things have given him an extreme case of PTSD. He knows Freddy can’t get to him while in the safety of the campfire and people he knows cares for him doesn’t mean his own mind won’t create its own horrors. So what you expected to happen was for him to start screaming his sleep like he has done previously—instead you find yourself waking up to him threading his hand through your hair.

The moment feels domestic in a weird, almost surreal way. You tilt your head back just enough to get a look at his face which looks peaceful for the first time since you have had the pleasure of meeting him. His hair is tussled—more than usual, beanie thrown off to the side and eyes glazed with sleep, but you find the sight of his slightly rested face a blessing. The bags under his eyes are still prominent and dark in color but at least his expression isn’t disheartened.

Now would be the perfect time to kiss him. Would that be cheesy? You try not to show your embarrassment at even considering the idea while he watches over you in an inquisitive way. He’s been observing you for awhile now the attention is starting to set your nerves on fire. Quentin hardly ever makes eye contact with anyone, much less make long lasting eye contact without breaking away.

“So... you feeling better?” You finally break the silence.

He uses the hand not carding through your hair to scratch the top of his head. “I guess so. I don’t feel like committing arson anymore.”

You raise a brow to accompany the toothy grin curling at your mouth. “Not yet. Give it some time. I’m sure David will say something to set you off before the next trial.”

“I don’t even want to think about it,” he tosses his head back and throws an arm over his eyes.

You roll your eyes at his dramatic behavior. Steve was telling you the other day that Quentin could be a bit of a drama queen when he wanted to be, which is few and far between. Most of the time he stays to himself and doesn’t draw attention.

“Oh, stop being dramatic and let’s get up. I’m sure the next trial is close anyway,” you kick his foot with your own which doesn’t do much but make him roll over with soft laughter.

Seeing his personality shine through the edges of his usual everyday-is-grey front makes you feel immense pride. It’s a wonder what an hour or so of sleep can have on the body. You were unsure about forcing him into your tent at first but now seeing him flail around and laugh is enough to throw any of those doubts out of the window.

You unzip the tent and poke your head out of the flap to see that everyone is still huddled around the campfire, some are holding conversations and some are sitting by their lonesome. Either way, no one has noticed you subtly crawling out of your makeshift home one leg at a time. A tug of your shirt makes you freeze and crane your head over your shoulder to see Quentin beckoning you back. The nervous trembling of his hands makes your blood grow cold.

You don’t hesitate to settle back in after zipping back up the flap. Whatever has him upset doesn’t need to be seen by the others. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing,” he reassures with a breathless whisper, “I just wanted to thank you. For everything.”

You open your mouth to offer the stereotypical, “of course,” but close your jaw tight when both of his hands cup your face and gently pulls you in close. His thumbs rub small circles into your skin a few times while he determines how you feel by watching your expressions. He must decide how you are reacting is good enough because he lets his eyes flutter closed when brushing his lips against yours to test the waters. The action makes your fingertips grow numb with disbelief.

His forehead bumps into yours when he tilts the position enough to get a fitting angle. “Thank you for thinking about my well being when I don’t. You take care of everybody else but... but no one takes care of you. Would—would you want to be...”

You manage to swallow down the lump in your throat and let your hand curl over his back and sink into his soft curls. The close proximity brings you the smell of his clothes, softness of his blushing skin, the nervous tremors that wrack through his body and everytime he releases a shaky breath. You somehow understand what he’s trying to say even with it coming out of his mouth in pieces. It makes your body melt into his more than it already has.

“Yes,” you whisper, using your hand curled into his hair to bring him forward.

If you had been standing when he finally presses his lips against your own, your knees would have given out. The kiss is tender and a bit clumsy due to the nervous bundle in both of your chests but it feels like you’re on cloud nine. The way he handles you is careful of you and your needs. It makes every bit of agony and suffering you endure day after day dissolve away.

The unsure, small kisses turn into breathless, open-mouthed ones the more comfortable you both get. You break the kiss long enough to catch your breath and nuzzle your forehead into his. His hands are still attached to your face but slowly let go after trailing his fingertips down your cheeks. The two of you softly pant with closed eyes for a few seconds before you shift close enough to sit yourself over his thighs. He doesn’t stop you and even lets his hands slide over your lower back, clinging to handfuls of your shirt.

“Are—are you okay? With this, I mean,” he chews on his lip, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

You lean in to kiss him and shut off any anxieties he has. “I could have left awhile ago, Quentin. It’s not like we’re about to do anything more than this in front of everyone at the campfire.”

His mouth slants into a thin line. “I’m just making sure I’m not doing something wrong.”

Your fingers trial lines over his collar bones while tucking your face into the crook of his neck. His curls brush your cheek and the ticklish sensation makes you grin against his skin. A shudder makes its way up his back when you begin to give his jawline soft kisses. Hi

“That would be your insecurities talking, Smith,” you say between well placed kisses down the side of his neck, “Freddy taught you that, not me.”

He breathes out when you lay a kiss over his pulse point—and you notice that if he had put a little more force behind said breath it would have come out sounding a bit more needy. You decide to scrape your teeth over the same spot and this time he whimpers against the air. The sound is enough to make sparks light behind your eyelids.

It’s also enough to make the both of you freeze.

You pull back just enough to catch that his whole face has erupted into a bright red color. His eyes are lit with pure panic and refuse to meet yours, instead averting to seem very interested in the ground. You grab his chin with your thumb and forefinger to turn his face towards your own. His eyes follow the motion and end up meeting your lidded ones, and his heart jumps into his throat. 

“You don’t have to be shy,” you kiss him, murmuring through the small breaks.

Another whimper breaks from his throat as you kiss him breathless. Through a mess of slanted lips and mingling tongues you find yourself subconsciously grinding down onto his hips. Too caught up in the moment to realize, he props up one of his legs to make it easier for you keep grinding down. The angle also gives him a chance to grind back, hands still tangled into your shirt.

You trail your lips back down to his neck and lay every bit of love you have on the spot that made him melt before. His head falls into your shoulder to muffle any noises escaping his mouth so the others at the campfire can’t hear. Any suggestive sound and all of them would come running to be nosy.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” You mumble into his neck.

“Please,” he practically sobs back.

You suppress a chuckle and let your hands trails down to the bottom of his shirt. Your fingers play with the hem of it before slipping under to feel his smooth stomach muscles. He’s a bit more toned than you thought he would be, but it makes sense when you think about how he used to be on the swim team before The Entity snatched him up.

Your fingertips trail every inch of skin while still making work on that one spot that makes him the most vocal. Your hips have stilled but he keeps rocking against you without pause, still moaning and babbling nonsense into your shoulder. Part of you wonders if he could reach his peak doing nothing but this. If you had to guess, you would say it’s highly likely considering he is incredibly touch starved. He told you that himself once when the two of you were just getting to know each other. But back then he didn’t want anyone touching him for anything.

“I—I think maybe we should stop,” he heaves.

You go to ask why but his choked, “close,” followed by a whine is enough to tell you why he’s making such a claim. He said you should stop but by the way he helplessly grinds up into you with renewed vigor makes you bite down on his neck instead. Not hard enough to make him bleed but just enough to leave a mark across his pristine perfect complexion. The pain makes him gasp as if struck across the face but it spills over into a cry to keep going. His whole body is trembling at this point and you embrace him tighter, tongue running over the new teeth marks to sooth the stinging.

“You can let go, Baby,” you whisper in his ear.

His whole body shivers when your breath fans across the side of his face. One of your hand slides over the back of his heck and into his hair to give it an experimental tug. It makes his grinds a bit heavier and uncoordinated against your own thighs—but oh does it stoke the flame in your lower stomach. You gently pull his head from your shoulder by the hair of his head and he lets you do so. His face is screwed up, eyebrows furrowed together and lips slightly parted as you lean in to press your forehead to his. The flutter of his eyes and clenching of his jaw makes you only drown in affection for him.

It’s when you kiss him to muffle any noise from his lips that his hips still in their grinding and he breathlessly gasps into your mouth. His hands dig into your back but you don’t mind the slight pain it brings while you work him through his high by swiveling your hips at just the right angle. It’s when his body sags forward, completely spent, is when you know it’s okay to slip off of his lap. It’s a careful maneuver.

You keep your body pulled flush to his when his head meets your shoulder again, but this time he wraps you in an embrace. The next moment is spent sitting in the silence, enjoying sounds of each other’s breathing as the high comes down. You let your chin rest on his shoulder in return, smiling softly at the realization you just did that. That little bit of intimacy probably took so much stress off him. His soft panting is like music to yours ears.

Your eyelashes flutter when he starts peppering the side of your face, neck and shoulder. He even goes as far to move a little of your shirt out of the way to get to your collarbones. The act isn’t remotely sexual at all, though it could easily be if he wished, and even tickles you enough to make you push his face away.

The two of you end up laughing and picking on each other with pokes and prodding before a soft tapping at your tent flap makes you both seize up. You even slap a hand over Quentin’s mouth out of an old habit from your past life, waiting for the person outside to say something.

“It’s Claudette.”

You mumble an, “oh!” before crawling over to unzip your tent. When you pop your head out, you’re met with her usual anxious expression.

“I was just checking on you two. It’s been awhile,” she tilts her head down at you.

You flash her a friendly smile. “We’re okay! We were just talking before joining you guys.”

“Did you get him to actually rest?” She peers forward with a whisper to make sure he doesn’t hear from inside. You give a nod and it makes her grin from ear to ear. “That’s good to hear. It’s about time he found someone to take care of him. Anyway, you can come join me when you’re ready.”

You watch her walk away with an innocent tip of your head before scooting back inside to find Quentin pulling his beanie back on. You wait with patience as he adjusts his hair to the way he likes it before reaching over to thread your fingers through his and squeezing. The gesture makes his heart skip a beat.

“Hey... uhm, would it be too cheesy for me to confess my undying love for you?”

He blinks a couple times to process the seriousness of the question. A grin takes up his face when he realizes you’re serious. Just the twinkle in your eye says it all.

“Would it be too cheesy for me to confess back? Yes. Because you just rocked my world and now I need new underwear.”

A beat passes.

“You want me to do it again?”


End file.
